Hurricane
by Taste.of.life
Summary: Barefoot, late, and hopelessly wet, she meets Spencer Reid in the middle of a hurricane.
1. Hurricane

Disclaimer: I don't own Criminal Minds

Spencer/OFC

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She's running through the water filled streets like there's a hope of keeping herself partway dry. It's a vain hope and quite useless because the Virginia rain has quickly turned into a torrential downpour. People flock under the thin ledges of buildings, water streaming from the slanted angles. She should be ducking under one of the outside cafe umbrella's, already brimming with half-soaked tourists and natives all dismayed at the sudden turn of events, but she can't be late to her cousin's engagement party.

It was useless to promise her cousin, a slightly temperamental only child that found moderate success in advertising and found tardiness to be one of their generations biggest sins, that she would be on time. She was perpetually late, and now she looked like a drowned cat. Her pale pink dress was like wet tissue paper against her skin and she knew that no amount of paper towels in a women's restroom or quick application of lip-gloss would make her look even half-way presentable.

She really ought to just duck and cover and ride the storm out.

She continued a slight jog, hindered not only by the rain, but by the thin points of the heels on her shoes. With an irritated huff that only succeeded in getting water in her mouth and none of her frustration out, she kicked off the left and then right shoe. She bent down to grab them and then started to fast walk.

Barefoot, wet, and hopelessly late. Of course.

She still had five more blocks to go and not a cab in sight.

She made it another block before slowing to a leisurely walk. There wasn't a point in trying to make it there on time.

She dropped her hands from trying to protect her head and hair from the rain, which were a lot heavier with the shoes in them, and let herself enjoy the rain. It was cool, thick rain, that dropped fast in quick plunks, the type of rain that would have sent her running for rain boots to jump in puddles as a child. The rain that felt full, but not painful, when it landed against the skin.

If people were looking at her strangely, it was not anything she could make out anyways.

She could just barely see somebody kneeling on the ground in front of her, hastily clutching at water logged papers, completely destroyed in the rain. She picked up her pace and hurried to help him collect whatever she could.

"I hope these aren't extremely important." She said, lifting her voice to let the person know she was there to help. The paper crumpled to mush in her hands, a thick wet pulp with black smudges that faded into blue streams.

Several other items scattered about the ground, pens and pencils and various coins and bits of note cards and paper clips. She reached for the strangers bag and just began shoving the objects into the first pocket, hoping nothing was too sentimental to the poor pedestrian and that nothing was ruined beyond repair.

"You really should be careful in this rain!" She grinned, when the unlucky stranger turned.

He was drenched, long hair plastered to his forehead and water dripping down the lines of his nose. Drops clung to his upper lip and his chin, wiggling as he worked his mouth. The sight was almost enough to make her laugh until she noticed the thick black cast that wound down his leg and the pair of crutches on his other side. He probably fell and spilled his bag and that was nothing to laugh about. She stood quickly and gave him a hand to help him up. He murmured something too low for her to hear and struggled to raise himself up without her help.

A little humiliated at the rejection of her outreached hand, she reached down and grabbed his bag for him, the strap was broken.

"I'm Rose!" She half shouts, gesturing towards herself with her free hand. He's tall, with slightly hunched shoulders and thin arms, with a bobbing adams apple and a dimple in his cheek. An unconscious smile pulls up her lips at the full sight of him. He's handsome in a bizarre way, broad features and sharp angles and full lips.

"Dr. Re-Spencer, ehm, Spencer!" He half-shouts back. He looks half stunned and half drowned and mostly miserable. She bobs her head in greeting and wipes away the water from her eyes. There's a quick prayer to the heavens that waterproof mascara is also hurricane proof and then she gathers his crutches up. It's hard to balance them along with her shoes and his bag and she's relieved when she leans forward to take them. He uses them to shift the weight off his bad leg and a quick look of relief warms his eyes.

"Where are you headed?"She asks him, the sound almost drowned out in the pound of rain.

"Erm, th-the parking garage on Ninth." He squints at her, cupping a hand over his eyes to see her a little clearly. He takes a thick swallow and forces himself to not allow his eyes to dip below her neck. He doubts if she even notices her dress has become as transparent as it was wet.

"I'm headed past that, I'll walk you!" She rearranges her shoes to balance on top of his leather bag and hopes that he isn't offended by the act. It's not like his bag wasn't getting it's fair share of punishment by weather.

"Oh, you don't have to-"

But she was already turning, walking down the road with his bag. He gave a quick start and pushes off against his crutches to catch up.

"I'm glad you're not that far away," she tells him "or this would have been awful to walk with."

He takes in the flush of her cheeks, the small crack of her lips, the thin lines of her neck without jewelry, three small earrings in the cartilage of her left ear, slightly crooked right pinky finger and the pink but smooth skin of her feet and the profile begins to build, even with the rain obscuring more details. It's enough to let him know she work in an office, that she probably is a vegetarian or eats relatively healthy but doesn't drink enough water, she probably isn't very good at sports and-

He tries to shut that part off, it's something he promises to himself not to do. Not to profile people if it isn't a case.

He isn't paying attention to what she's saying, however, so it takes a moment to run through his memory and pluck out the last few minutes to formulate a response.

"No, I can still drive with the cast, it hinges at the knee, see?" He says, a little lower in volume. The rain has lessened in intensity and isn't so drowning of the sound.

"Good, I'm glad you can still get around." She tells him truthfully, "I've broken my leg before and it was the worst summer of my life."

She's so genuine that he doesn't even need to look for facial clues to indicate her claim. Why would she lie about a broken leg anyways? He's a little irritated at his inability to not look for an ulterior motive or a subtle hint for a lie, but if that was all that bothered him in life he'd call himself a lucky man.

"I was shot." He says quickly, half jumbled together.

Her sudden lift of brows tells him that he needs to explain further and not leave the statement as ' _I was shot.'_

"In the leg- that's why I have a cast on."

"Then I'm also glad it was the leg, and not somewhere else." She gives him a full smile and slows down, just in case the pace is a little fast for him.

"I broke mine trying to do a dare by Mandy Hearis, she said I wouldn't scale the side of the administrative office in 8th grade on the last day of school. I made it to the second story before my hand slipped on a ledge and I feel wrong into a bush." It isn't exactly the most heroic way to break a bone, but it's not the worst way and she's half proud of the stubborn girl from her youth. He's surprised she didn't ask the story behind the gunshot wound to his leg, which in itself is a surprise. Nothing surprises him anymore.

They're only a block from the parking garage now and the rain has softened to a light pour, a break of sun filtering through the clouds.

"Thank you, for- um, well helping me." He gives a tentative smile.

"What are strangers for, huh?" She returns with a light smile.

He can make out the dark blue to her eyes, the dusting of freckles and the small scar on her cheek with the lessening of the rain. All together its a beautiful face, he thinks.

"Maybe I'll see you around?" She says, almost shyly, when they reach the entrance to the garage. She hands him back his broken bag, tucking her heels underneath an arm.

He knows the likely hood of them meeting again without exchanging telephone numbers is .38% but he nods anyways.

"Make it home safe, then." She smiles and then turns to leave. She's beyond late and impossibly wet but almost happy in a way that confuses her.

She's half way down the street when he finally hollers out to her.

"I'm- I'm glad to have met you, Rose."

It's such an awkward thing to say that he cringes.

"Likewise, Spencer."

She gives a small wave goodbye.

He wants to shout out that he normally visit Anne's Cafe on Tuesday morning and the book store on Picket road on Saturdays and that he isn't opposed to meeting her again somewhere. But the words are too thick in his throat to express so he just watches her leave and wishes he had at least thought to ask her last name.


	2. October

Disclaimer: I don't own Criminal Minds

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She's dry the next time he sees her.

He knows it's her because he sees her face everywhere, unconsciously looking for it in every stranger that passes on the street. He doesn't know why he does that. It doesn't make any rational sense for him to want to see her again, except that she was interesting and a good samaritan and it would be nice to properly thank her for helping him.

She also has blond hair, something he didn't realize before. But hair appears darker when wet because of the double refraction of light and he almost kicks himself for not immediately thinking of that.

She's also crying the next time he sees her.

He wants to go over to her and ask her what's wrong but even the idea of talking to her makes his hands clammy and sends a shot of adrenaline into his blood so he stills himself and just watches her.

She's also on the phone and it would be rude to interrupt. So he sticks to that reason for not going over to say hello or to ask her what's wrong and simply tries to accept the mathematical improbability of seeing her again.

"No, you don't get it." Her voice is carried over to him on the wind and he doesn't realize he's straining to hear what she's saying until he catches himself moving a little closer.

"Okay- okay, we'll figure it out later." She nods to herself once to whatever the other person is saying and then hangs up. She wipes at her eyes and tries clear her face of tears, using the distorted reflection of herself in the shops window as a mirror.

It's a cold day in October, his favorite month, and she's not dressed nearly warm enough.

He wonders where her coat and scarf are and what would posses her to brave the outdoors without them.

He doesn't have much time to ponder that because a man with a mop of jet black hair and a sturdy build exits the small coffee shop next to where she's standing and he hands her a thick cream coat.

"Oh, thank you. I ran out so fast I forgot to crab my coat."

She pushes her arms through the sleeves quickly and jumps up and down a few times to get the heat rushing back through her body.

"Hope everything's alright, do you need me to call you a cab?" He asks.

Spencer finds himself slowly walking towards them, making his way around a small group of tourists pointing at the historic buildings and moaning at the fact it was cold.

"No, I think I'll walk for a little- wait, Spencer, right?"

She catches him out of the corner of her eye and the shock of seeing a half-drowned stranger she helped months ago derails her train of thought.

She doesn't know how for the life of her she could remember his name when just last week she forgot her cousins birthday but she knows that he's the man from the rain with the broken brief case and the broken leg and the helpless look on his face.

She hasn't thought about that day in a while, almost forgot about him completely, but somehow that memory rushes back on a flood of sensation.

"R-Rose." Spencer stammers, eyes wide in fright. He wasn't expecting her to remember him and a warm thrill dances up his spine and sends his stomach into a spiral.

"Do you guys know each other?" The man at her shoulders asks, placing a hand protectively on Rose's back.

It sends instant alarms to Spencer's brain, because even though he misses a lot of social cues he knows what it means when a man asserts physical touch over a woman and it's normally to send a message to another perceived threat. But how can he possibly explain he isn't a threat, that he doesn't even know why he came over, but it wasn't to interrupt them or steal her away.

"Yeah, we share a history of broken legs," She laughs and reaches out to shake Spencer's hand, "It's nice to see you again."

He doesn't lift his hand to grab hers and she remembers quickly that he refused her hand when she tried to help him up. It was as awkward as she remembered it last time.

"Okay, well, I gotta get back inside. Text me when you make it home, okay?" He gives her a tight smile and nods to Spencer before going back into the coffee shop.

"He's my cousin-in-law." She tells Spencer unnecessarily. Unnecessary because they're strangers and he doesn't deserve to know anything about her or her relationships yet but for some reason he's oddly grateful she cleared that up and he's smiling. He half thinks he's lost his mind.

"Small world, huh?" She says, filling in the silence. She doesn't like her tendency to babble but her companion isn't saying anything and the need for this moment to not be awkward is so painful for her she has to do something to sort it out.

He wants to tell her that she's wrong, that the world is so incredibly big and the chances of them meetings are so incredibly small that he's astounded and floored and still doing equations in his head to make sense of it all.

"Thank you, I'm sorry I never got to really say that before, but thank you for helping me that day." He tells her as genuinely as he can. Because with an eidetic memory and a genius IQ he can remember every time someone has truly helped him, not for their own gain but because he needed help and while it was a small thing for her to walk with him and carry his bag in the rain, it was actually quite a big thing to him and that is something he wants to impress upon her.

If his sincerity shocked her she doesn't show it but she smiles wide.

"You would have done it for me." Because she's sure that this man would be the type of person to help anyone.

"Is there a way to repay you?" He asks. He's not sure how much that act of kindness is worth or if she needs any money but he's almost to his wallet when she stops him.

"Take me to coffee." She tells him suddenly. She wants to take it back immediately. No sane person goes to coffee with a total stranger but maybe he isn't so much a stranger after one meeting. She doesn't take it back.

"Right now?" He's surprised and alarmed and now he feels sick, sick with unease and fear and anticipation and he has no clue when he became so emotional that the idea of a cup of coffee now sends him into an emotional panic attack.

"Yes, if you're free, that is. Obviously if you're busy, of course not."

He wasn't free. He was suppose to meet Penelope and Morgan at a new place for brunch because Penelope absolutely was dying to try their crepes and because apparently Spencer didn't leave his apartment enough in their eyes.

"I'm free." He tells her.

"Okay, good, give me one second to grab my bag. I'm an idiot and I left it inside."

He stands there like a statue, going over every angle of their conversation as he watches her rush inside and grab her bag from the table in the corner where three people, including the man from before, are sitting.

It's a coffee shop and he wonders for a moment why they don't just go inside there.

She rushes back outside and smiles before pointing her thumb up the street.

"I know a good place that way, if you're good to go."

"Just one moment." Because it would be rude not to at least inform Penelope he wouldn't be able to make it and he doesn't want his friends to worry at his absence and also because he's still digesting the fact that he's run into her and more than that they're going for coffee and suddenly the word 'date' is a bright sign in his mind and he's trying to get that out of their and he really just needs a moment.

He takes out his phone and sends a quick message and then nods to let her know he's ready.

She's a fast walker but he keeps up easily with his long legs and the lack of cast and it's a nice walk in the brisk chill of the air and they reach the coffee shop too soon for his liking because they started talking about the weather but now they're talking about their favorite memories in each season and it's such a conversation with ease he can't help but wish every interaction was like this one.

She drinks tea and he get a coffee with an insane amount of sugar that leads to a stimulating debate over Aspartame and artificial sugars versus natural sweeteners and he's delighted that she tries to argue her points even though there's no wining her side of the argument.

He orders a second drink and then she orders the third and the day slips merrily by as the sun hides away early this time of year and he suddenly wishes very much that it was June again when the days stretch far longer, even though October is his favorite month and he waits for it with kid-like joy every other month of the year.

When the coffee shop closes to the final joy of the lone barista and the dismay of the server who has to refill all of the now empty sugar containers at the table they were at he can't believe he spent so much of the day talking.

"So what are we going to do, now?" She asks him finally, bundling herself back into her coat, feeling the nighttime chill wrap around her like an icy blanket.

"What do you mean?" Because surely nothing would be open at this time of night but he too, can't stand the idea of the night finally putting an end to the day.

"Are we going to wait another five months for us to run into each other again or are you finally going to ask me for my number?"

It's bold of her, but she's always been kind of a bold girl and a little impulsive and what type of woman would she be if she didn't do what she wanted and at that moment she very much wanted to see him again.

She's seen him blush several times throughout the day, the heat spreading from his nose to the apples of his cheeks and even like a waterfall down his neck.

She sees it again now.

"Would that be alright with you?" He asks, but he isn't nervous because there isn't a way for him to be nervous around this woman anymore. Now he's just anxious and happy and confused and just a little but stunned but there's no room for nerves.

She grabs a pen from her bag and when she reaches for his hand it takes him a moment but he finally gives it to her.

She writes her number on the palm of his hand and he knows that he has just under thirty minutes to enter the number in his phone because with how many times people use their palms the number is bound to wipe away or smear and he cannot risk not having this number.

"So you aren't allergic to my touch." She smiles but it's to herself and she doesn't explain her comment though he can guess well enough.

"You'll call?" She confirms, putting the pen back in her bag. While he's not nervous the same can't be said for her and suddenly feels like biting her lip and wringing her hands.

"I'll call." And he says it with such finality, such promise that she can't help but believe him. He'll call.

She accepts that and turns her back to walk away. She makes it half way down the block-

"You know," He half shouts to stop her, "I know your favorite season and your favorite colors and all the shows you watch and how you feel about assisted suicide and even the places you've traveled but I still don't know your last name."

Because this time he's going to make sure that even if the sky broke open with rain and the water washed away her phone number he is going to be able to find her again.

"Mickennly," She grins, "my name is Rose Mickennly. What's yours?"

"Reid. My name is Spencer Reid."

"Nice to meet you, Spencer Reid," She laughs, "finally."


End file.
